“Very well,” he said, glancing over it, and taking up his cup again.
Spendlove watched the level of the liquid sink in the cup, and judged the moment to be more propitious now. He laid a letter on the desk.
“From Sir Thomas, My Lord.”
Hornblower uttered a small groan as he picked it up; Captain Sir Thomas Fell of HMS Clorinda was a fussy individual, and a communication from him usually meant trouble – unnecessary trouble, and therefore to be grudged. Not in this case, though. Hornblower read the official document and then craned over his shoulder at Spendlove.
“What’s all this about?” he demanded.
“It’s rather a curious case, I hear, My Lord,” answered Spendlove.
It was a ‘circumstantial letter’, a formal request from Captain Fell for a court martial to be held on Bandsman Hudnutt of the Royal Marines, for ‘wilful and persistent disobedience to orders’. Such a charge if substantiated meant death, or else such a flogging that death would be preferable. Spendlove was perfectly well aware that his admiral detested hangings and floggings.
“The charges are preferred by the Drum-Major,” commented Hornblower to himself.
He knew the Drum-Major, Cobb, perfectly well, or at least as well as the peculiar circumstances permitted. As Admiral and Commander-in-Chief Hornblower had his own band, which was under the command of Cobb, holding warrant rank. Previous to all official occasions where music had to be provided Cobb reported to Hornblower for orders and instructions, and Hornblower would go through the farce of agreeing with the suggestions put forward. He had never publicly admitted that he could not tell one note from another; he could actually distinguish one tune from another by the jigginess or otherwise of the time. He was a little uneasy in case all this was more common knowledge than he hoped.
“What d’you mean by ‘a curious case’, Spendlove?” he asked.
“I believe an artistic conscience is involved, My Lord,” replied Spendlove, cautiously. Hornblower was pouring, and tasting, his second cup of coffee; that might have a bearing on the breaking of Bandsman Hudnutt’s neck, thought Spendlove. At the same time Hornblower was feeling the inevitable irritation resulting from having to listen to gossip. An Admiral in his splendid isolation never – or only rarely – knew as much about what was going on as his most junior subordinate.
“An artistic conscience?” he repeated. “I’ll see the Drum-Major this morning. Send for him now.”
“Aye aye, My Lord.”
He had received the one necessary clue, and need not demean himself by prying further unless the interview with Cobb should prove unfruitful.
“Now let’s have that draught report until he comes.”
Drum-Major Cobb did not arrive for some time, and his resplendent uniform when he did arrive hinted that he had taken care about his appearance; tunic and pantaloons were freshly ironed, his buttons glittered, his sash was exactly draped, his sword-hilt shone like silver. He was an enormous man with an enormous moustache, and he made an enormous entrance into the room, striding over the resounding floor as if he were twice as heavy as he actually was, clashing his boot-heels together as he halted before the desk and swept his hand upward in the salute fashionable at the moment among the Royal Marines.
“Good morning, Mr Cobb,” said Hornblower, mildly; the ‘Mr’, like the sword, was an indication that Cobb was a gentleman by virtue of his warrant even though he had risen from the ranks.
“Good morning, My Lord.” There was as much flourish in the phrase as there had been in the salute.
“I want to hear about these charges against this bandsman – Hudnutt.”
“Well, My Lord -” A sideways glance from Cobb gave Hornblower a hint.
“Get out of here,” said Hornblower to his staff. “Leave Mr Cobb alone with me.”
When the door was shut Hornblower was all good manners.
“Please sit down, Mr Cobb. Then you can tell me at your ease what really happened.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
“Well, now?”
“That young ‘Udnutt, My Lord, “e’s a fool if ever there was one. I’m sorry this ‘as ‘appened, My Lord, but ‘e deserves all ‘e’s going to get.”
“Yes? He’s a fool, you say?”